


X is for Xenophile

by vipjuly



Series: ZYX's [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alien Castiel (Supernatural), Alternate Universe, Canon-Typical Violence, First Time, M/M, Post-Apocalypse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-22
Updated: 2019-02-22
Packaged: 2019-11-03 21:57:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17885942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vipjuly/pseuds/vipjuly
Summary: There is no longer a blue sky. The only thing that greets the eye when the head is tilted back is the ugly belly of the beast that came to Earth a thousand years ago; the enormous structure that, without a doubt, has taken a toll on the planet and all the creatures inhabiting it. So large it blocks the sun after midday, the Mothership is said to have come without warning, encroaching on the human race and perpetuating an end date unforeseeable by even the best of minds. Red like oxidized iron, dusty like the desert sands, the structure looks like a floating fortress in the Earth’s atmosphere, a quiet suggestion of what may come should the humans stray from their tasks.Dean Winchester dreams of building his own spaceship and blasting off into the cosmos with his little brother to start their lives anew.





	X is for Xenophile

**Author's Note:**

> this was a missed opportunity for tentacles! maybe next time!

There is no longer a blue sky. The only thing that greets the eye when the head is tilted back is the ugly belly of the beast that came to Earth a thousand years ago; the enormous structure that, without a doubt, has taken a toll on the planet and all the creatures inhabiting it. So large it blocks the sun after midday, the Mothership is said to have come without warning, encroaching on the human race and perpetuating an end date unforeseeable by even the best of minds. Red like oxidized iron, dusty like the desert sands, the structure looks like a floating fortress in the Earth’s atmosphere, a quiet suggestion of what may come should the humans stray from their tasks.

Humanity itself is on the decline. With no more vegetation growing from the Earth’s crust the population of all species has diminished incredibly and, in many cases, has even gone extinct. A planet that used to be rich with green and blue is now a quickly drying rock floating in space, the Mothership exhausting all of Mother Nature’s resources in a one-sided battle for dominance. 

It isn’t like the humans didn’t try to fight back -- they did, with all their might. But far away galaxies have proved far too advanced for the humble human species, and it was practically overnight that the Mothership declared its sanction in cultivating the Earth for all it could offer. It was practically overnight that the humans fell prey to the one higher power they once didn’t believe in. 

There is no Heaven, there is no Hell. There is only the Mothership, and the rock humans have been stuck on for a thousand years since its arrival.

\--

Anymore, a human isn’t expected to live past the age of fifty, what with the decline of Earth’s natural resources and the poverty the Mothership catapulted them into. Dean Winchester might make it to twenty-five if he’s lucky. He’s in peak health but his mouth gets him into trouble and he’ll die long before natural causes take him, and he’s come to terms with that fact. It’s just a matter of who will get annoyed with him enough to end him for good instead of just hitting him hard enough to land him in the infirmary. 

Working at the plant is a fact of life once a human reaches the age of fifteen. Dean has been building space heaters since he came of age, the work mindless and monotonous enough that he’s had plenty of time to daydream while he builds. Among the sparks flying and torches welding he dreams of being the first human in a thousand years to fly off of this desolate, broken rock; he dreams of being the first human to break free from the Mothership’s rusty claws. 

At the end of the work day Dean grabs his bicycle from the rack in front of the plant. Hundreds of other bicycles are crowded there as well, and Dean always has the wistful thought that he’d like to have seen a car, maybe even ride in one, before they were completely outlawed. Always interested in how things work, Dean knows that he would have loved to learn everything there could be known about cars, inside and out. Maybe instead of building space heaters for the thousands of homes in their run-down city he could have been a mechanic, or an engineer, and could have had a hand in building those neat things. 

A pipe dream that is simply unattainable because cars just plain don't exist, anymore.

He still likes to look at photos of them in old books, though. 

The bike ride home is long for his weary legs, limbs tired from standing for ten hours and only getting one thirty minute break in the middle of his shift. But home is home, even though the house is basically ramshackle, and when Dean leans his bicycle against the house and enters through the heavy front door, he feels the tension from the day fall off of his shoulders. Home might be on the dilapidated side, but it’s _home_ , and it and his brother are all he’s got. Working at the plant gives him an advantage, because he can bring home defective products and fashion them to work properly, so no matter the time of year their home is always warm and cozy. Which is good, because ever since Mothership took up residence in the atmosphere, the Earth’s temperature had cooled marginally. Not quite an induced winter, but the sun doesn’t reach enough of the surface to warm it. 

“Sammy?” Dean calls as he shuts the front door behind him.

Sixteen-year-old Sam opens up the door to his bedroom, sending Dean a wide smile. “Welcome home, Dean.” 

“Thanks kid,” Dean says, kneeling to start unlacing his boots. “You almost done with your homework?” 

“Almost,” Sam says. “Just a few more problems and then I can come out and help with dinner.” 

“No rush, unless you’re hungry.” Dean tucks his dirty boots into a rickety cubby as he straightens. “I gotta take a quick shower.” 

“I’m starving,” Sam says, and Dean knows he’s trying to keep the whine out of his voice. “But ok. Meet you in fifteen?” 

“Sure,” Dean offers an easy smile, even though his heart aches. 

Dinner is the biggest meal of the day and pathetic at best, and Sam’s a growing kid, which means Dean usually gives up most of his rations to him so he can be sufficiently nourished. It’s no skin off Dean’s back - at fourteen Sam had been selected to attend university, which meant he was allowed to be excluded from heading to the plant for mind numbing grunt work. Instead he spends his days in prep school and his nights buried in homework, and he’s going to end up being their ticket out of his hell hole. An education means one can travel by train to a new city and start over completely and Dean is desperate for it. He wasn’t smart enough in school to pass the exams, but he’d always known Sam would be, and now that they’re at this point it’s just going to be another two years before Sam goes off to university.

As his next of kin, Dean will be able to go with him. He’s counting down the days to when he can _finally_ flip off his boss and tell him to suck a giant alien dick. 

Fifteen minutes later finds Dean and Sam elbow to elbow in the kitchen, rinsing vegetables in the sink and chopping them up. Meat had been nearly farmed out of existence fifty years ago and is now rationed only to the wealthy. Dean’s never had meat before, but he’s read about the different dishes one can cook with it, and has seen the pictures, and he’s entirely invested in one day eating a hamburger. For now, though, they eat lots of vegetables and rice and noodles, and Dean has gotten very creative with his recipes. Tonight is going to be a hearty soup thick with cream, served with the bread currently baking in the oven. If one is resourceful and has a green thumb, they can survive rather well. 

Sam’s smart brain had figured out how to compost their scraps to start a small garden, which they keep in a large crate in Dean’s bedroom. He tends to it daily; onions, carrots, potatoes, peppers, lettuce, zucchini, tomatoes, and more. It’s against the law to cultivate one’s own food - _everything_ is rationed and policed by the Mothership - but Dean and Sam are very careful to stay out of trouble. So their garden is small, and they can only harvest so much at a time, but coupled with the rations they can buy at the market, they are actually a bit more well off than others in the city. Still, Dean splits the food sixty-forty with Sam, wanting to keep his little brother firing on all pistons at all times. 

They eat dinner at the rickety table in the kitchen. Sam has seconds, and then Dean covers the pot with a lid and stores it in the fridge, mentally calculating that they’ll be able to eat it for the next two nights before it runs out. Maybe a third night if Sam doesn’t have seconds one day. Dean sets about making another loaf of bread so he can have a decent breakfast in the morning, Sam disappearing back into his bedroom for more studying. It’s quiet, it’s routine, and Dean always settles into it mindlessly. 

There’s still that wistful daydreaming, though. The daydreams about finding, maybe even building a rocket, and launching himself and his brother off of this godforsaken rock. Neighboring planets are too scared to offer help with the Mothership, but they do offer refuge for those seeking asylum should they be lucky enough to get off of Earth. 

As Dean settles into bed, he reminds himself that no matter what, tomorrow is one day closer to him and Sam leaving the city, anyway. 

\--

Dean has always known that epiphanies tend to knock you on your ass, but it’s never happened so literally.

One minute he’s riding his bicycle home from the plant, and in the next he’s practically flattened by something falling from the sky. He and his bike go tumbling to the unforgiving pavement, a heavy weight settled across his chest. Once his head stops spinning Dean opens his eyes and looks down to see a shock of wild, dark hair, and realizes that a _person_ just used him as a landing pad.

Looking up to the sky, Dean is… confused. There are no tall buildings nearby, this being the residential area, and the only thing overhead is the belly of the beast. Furrowing his brows in confusion, unable to put two and two together, Dean groans and reaches to grab the person’s shoulders to try and get them off.

“Hey- buddy, get up. You’re heavy as fuck,” Dean grunts. And it’s true - even with both hands on this person’s shoulders he can’t budge them.

That wild hair shifts and then there’s a face looking up at Dean, and what he sees steals the breath right out of his lungs and makes his blood run cold. 

It’s an alien.

It has blue eyes, and they resemble a human’s in shape and size, but there’s an artificial light behind them. Dean can see the pupils dilating and shrinking like a camera lens trying to focus, which is entirely unnerving. The alien’s features are also distinctly human, if not a bit too sculpted (what is the genetic advantage of having cheekbones that sharp?), its skin tan and hair still crazily mussed. Dean’s words must finally click because the alien shifts and the props itself up, hands on either side of Dean’s head as it examines his face, clearly cataloguing everything it’s seeing. It’s wearing soft jeans and a loose, almost feminine looking sweater, which is so far from the grey uniform Dean is used to seeing that it’s a little jarring. 

“My apologies,” the alien says, its voice soft and subtle as a fucking thunderclap. “I seem to have miscalculated my landing.”

“Ya think?” Dean asks, feeling both frightened and frustrated at the same time. This alien looks (and acts) so differently from the other aliens Dean has encountered. Which, to be fair, shouldn’t be surprising, because Dean has only had run-ins with the Peacekeepers, who wear staunchy and ugly uniforms and are only interested in using their huge taser sticks to keep unruly humans in place. 

The alien shifts and gets off of Dean with inhuman grace, extending its hand down towards him. “Where am I?” 

Confused, mostly by the fact that arousal is simmering alongside the fear in his gut, Dean accepts the help up and stands, wincing at the dull throb in his knee. “Lawrence.” 

The alien frowns, eyes dropping down towards Dean’s left knee. “I have injured you.”

“It’s fine,” Dean finds himself saying. It’s not fine. This is an _alien_ in front of him, a member of the race responsible for turning the Earth into a fucking dystopian garbage heap. “Am I uh, in trouble?” 

The alien blinks rapidly, and then frowns. “I do not know. Are you?” 

“You’re not uh,” Dean gestures vaguely between them, “here to take me away?”

Realization dawns on the alien’s features, and then it shakes its head. “No.”

“Uh, ok then. Cool.” Dean bends to pick up his bicycle, clenching his teeth as his knee protests. Great. An alien falls from the sky, lands on him, injures his knee, and now Dean is gonna go to work tomorrow a hurtin’ unit.

“Please allow me to heal you,” the alien suddenly says once Dean’s bicycle is upright. Dean gawks at him. The alien takes a step closer, which causes Dean to take a stilted step back. The alien frowns. “I have injured you. I can heal you.” 

“It’s nothin’ some ice and elevation won’t fix,” Dean deflects. He had no ideas that aliens could heal, and he doesn’t want to find out _how_. He’s also still trying to wrap his brain around the fact that this alien doesn’t want to kill him immediately. 

“Please,” the alien insists. Its voice isn’t too full of emotion, but there’s an intensity in its artificial eyes, and after a few moments of a quiet staring contest, Dean finally relents and nods. The alien takes another step forward, and when Dean doesn’t flinch away, it reaches up two fingers to press to Dean’s forehead.

A cooling sensation immediately sweeps through Dean’s body, causing him to shiver. The sensation filters through every cell of his being and in less than a second, the throb of his knee disappears. Blinking his eyes open, Dean stares at the alien in wonder. There’s a slight height difference between them, Dean being taller, but his chin tilts up slightly anyway, leveling their gazes.

“Woah.” 

The corners of the alien’s mouth twitch ever so slightly, before it steps back. It resembles a human man so much it’s almost easy to forget what it is, but then its eyes flash bright white and the illusion is shattered. The alien whips its head around, looking this way and that, before it takes a quick step towards Dean. 

“Where do you live?” the alien asks, its deep voice sounding slightly panicked.

“Uh, look buddy, thanks for healing me, but I’m not gonna-” 

“ _They’re coming_ ,” the alien says, reaching up to grab Dean by his shoulders. It steps into Dean’s personal space and then puts a hand on Dean’s bike, gripping the handle bars tightly. “We must leave here. Picture your home in your head.”

“What?” Dean asks, but his brain automatically supplies him with an image of his warm, cozy home, and then there’s a distinct lurching sensation behind his navel as his knees weaken. He slams his eyes shut and braces himself, stumbling slightly when they seem to land. Had they flown? He opens his eyes and is shocked to find himself, the alien, and his bicycle in the living room of his home. 

The alien lets go of him and takes a step back, taking its abnormally high body heat with it. Dean’s body, too used to the cold, misses it. 

“Shit,” Dean breathes, once he’s sure he’s not going to puke.

“Dean? What was that noise?” Sam’s voice comes from behind his bedroom door before he opens it. He takes in the scene in front of him - the alien’s teleportation has knocked a few things askew in the living room, but other than that everything is still in one piece. “Woah.” Sam’s eyes widen. “Is that an alien?” 

The alien turns towards Sam, inclining its head in greeting. “Hello.”

Sam grins, “Hi! Is Dean in trouble?” 

Dean rolls his eyes and grumbles, grabbing his bicycle and taking it to the front door so he can put it outside where it belongs. When he comes back inside Sam and the alien are exchanging pleasantries, causing Dean to huff. 

“ _Hey_ ,” Dean interrupts. “Dude, you can’t stay here. This is a human residential area and aliens aren’t supposed to be here unless they’re doing a March.” 

The alien turns towards Dean, its head tilting and eyes squinting slightly as they focus on the human. “I am aware of where my species is and isn’t supposed to be at any given time. However, I do not conform to those rules.”

Dean’s eyebrows raise, and he folds his arms over his chest, trying to puff himself up a bit. He’d never be able to physically match an alien, and certainly wouldn’t be able to outsmart one, but this alien is in his _home_ and currently standing five feet from his brother, so Dean can’t help but posture a little bit. “And why don’t you conform?” 

The alien’s eyes divert briefly when it says, “I am not like the rest of them.”

Silence settles for a moment, and then Sam takes a step forward. “You’re really not here to hurt us.” 

“No,” the alien says emphatically. It’s the most emotion Dean has heard in its voice. “I would never harm a human.” 

Feeling a bit guilty, Dean rubs the back of his neck. “He uh, actually already healed me.” 

“Why are you here?” Sam asks. He looks at the alien’s clothes. “I’ve never seen an alien dress like us.”

“It is to help blend in,” the alien says. “Other aliens might be able to sense my presence, but they would lose me in a crowd if I am dressed like this.” 

“Why are you trying to get away from them?” Sam inquires. Dean’s apparently still too out of it to ask his own questions. 

“Because I do not approve of what they are doing to this planet,” the alien says. “It is my intent to leave Earth and go back to my home planet to tell the government what the Garrison is doing. I believe that Paradise would put a stop to it.”

“Hate to break it to ya buddy but Mothership has been here for a thousand years,” Dean interrupts. “Don’t you think your home planet would have stopped them by now?” 

The alien turns to Dean and shakes its head. “The Garrison - or Mothership, as you call it - has cut off communication with Paradise under the guise that they have successfully integrated. Paradise does not know what is happening here.” 

“How come you’re so different?” Sam asks. “Are there more aliens like you? Ones that want to help us?” 

The alien sends Sam a cautious look, before shaking its head again. “My comrades are on Paradise. I have no allies here.”

Dean drums his fingers across his bicep. “Well, got another thing to break to ya, bud: there’s no spaceships down here. No one can get off this rock.” 

“The Garrison has destroyed all of its escape pods,” the alien says morosely. “The only option I had was to fall to Earth and construct my own vessel.”

“What about when they notice you’re gone? Won’t they come lookin’?” Dean asks.

“They already have,” the alien replies, locking eyes with Dean. “That is why I teleported us here. To avoid them.”

Dean’s jaw tenses. “Can they follow you here?”

The alien shakes its head. “No. Your human scents will mask me. I suspect that they don’t believe I would take shelter with humans.” 

“Back up,” Dean holds up a hand, irritation flaring through him. “What makes you think you got shelter here?” 

The alien blinks evenly, turning towards Dean. Its posture is stiff but its eyes soften, its chin inclining slightly as it regards Dean solemnly. “If you allow me shelter I will repay my debt to you. Once I build my ship I will take you anywhere you desire.” 

Dean blinks rapidly, his heart leaping up into his throat, hope nearly choking him to death. “You- you serious?” 

Behind the alien, Sam’s jaw drops. “Really?” 

The alien nods. “It is the least I can do. And I will admit, your help would make help move the process along. Building a vessel is difficult and time consuming, especially with the limited resources here on the surface.” 

Sam meets Dean’s gaze, “Let’s do it.” 

The hairs on the back of Dean’s neck raise. “You just jumpin’ in on this? Sam, you’re two years away from university.”

“How long will it take to build the ship?” Sam asks the alien. 

Dean thinks he can actually _hear_ the gears whirring and clicking in the alien’s head as it thinks. 

“One year, one month, two weeks and four days.” 

“Dean,” Sam addresses his brother. “If this works, I won’t need to go to university. We can get off Earth and go somewhere else- start over, just like we’ve always wanted to do.” 

“This is reckless,” Dean finds himself saying, shocked at his own level-headedness. “Sammy, what if we can’t build the ship? What if the alien gets caught? You know we’ll be killed if anyone learns we’re helpin’ him, right?” 

Damn Sam and those puppy eyes and the fierce determination he learned from his favorite (only) brother. “Then we die trying to do something good. Because if the alien builds a ship and gets off this planet he can tell Paradise that Mothership is screwing us over, and they’ll come and save the rest of humanity.”

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Dean lets out a short breath. Sam’s got a point. If they don’t help the alien, there’s a chance that they can’t save humanity. But if they don’t help the alien then they also stay safe, and they stick to the plan of Sam going to university in a different city. Tipping his head back, he massages his temples. 

He wasn’t gonna live to fifty, anyway.

“Alright.” Dean finally says. “Tell us how we can help.”

\--

The alien’s name is Castiel, and the more time they spend together, the more human it becomes in Dean’s eyes. Bioengineered it may be, _alien_ as it may be, Dean starts referring to it as ‘he’ and welcoming him into discussions. Castiel doesn’t require sleep, but at night he camps out on the worn couch. In the mornings he sends Dean off with a bid for a good day, and when Dean comes home Castiel greets him with inquiries as to how work was. It’s strange and domestic and it’s been just Dean and Sam for so long, that having a third person in the equation should have been stressful, but instead it’s easy to fall into new routine. 

Castiel still wears soft, comfortable, feminine clothing, and neither Sam nor Dean comment on it since Castiel doesn’t really seem to understand the intricacies of human gender identity. And anyway, Dean would never say it out loud, but it’s kinda… cute, that Castiel chooses to wear pink sweaters and occasionally dons sundresses.

During the day while Dean is at work, Castiel and Sam divide their time between Sam’s studies and Castiel drafting plans to build the spaceship. With Castiel’s help Sam is actually excelling in his studies, and Dean sort of feels a misplaced disappointment that Sam won’t be attending university and bettering the world.

Then again, if they succeed and manage to get out to space with Castiel, the world will be _better_ than better. 

Coming home from work is always a welcome reprieve. The months slowly crawl by, and while Dean is mildly concerned about the fact that Castiel hasn’t left the house literally since he teleported them after falling, Castiel doesn’t seem too concerned by it. Castiel has informed both Dean and Sam what kinds of materials he needs to build the spaceship, and both brothers keep an eye out for things in day to day passing. 

In the third month, Dean is finally granted a permit from the city to build a shed in the backyard. On the application it said “second dwelling”, and in the interview he’d said his little brother wanted some independence, and the officials were none the wiser. The actual purpose of the shed is for Castiel to finally start constructing the space ship, and Dean’s thankful that none of his neighbors are nosy. Using scrap metal from dumpster diving and broken parts from the assembly line Dean works on, Castiel sets about building the ship. Sam keeps up on his studies (and he subtly shifts a lot of his major subjects to space travel without raising any alarms), and Dean spends his downtime between gardening and helping Castiel whenever he can.

And helping Castiel? Incredible. 

Dean hadn’t done well in school at all, but he sure as hell knows how to work with his hands. Castiel is surprised at every turn when Dean solves a problem or suggests something new, and the alien never fails to give Dean praise. They get covered in grease and grime and oil, and Castiel can clean himself up with a touch but Dean reassures him that he likes showering, thanks, so no need to mojo the mess from his skin. Dean teaches Castiel how to weld, Castiel teaches Dean about how to program a motherboard with quantum mechanics, and they just… work well together. Castiel’s presence is always quiet but direct, and sometimes Dean forgets that he’s an alien. 

He’s always reminded when those intense, artificial eyes focus on him, the lenses whirring and clicking as Castiel thinks or commits something to memory. 

Today they’re welding again, and Dean hisses when a few sparks shower onto his forearm, burning through his shirt and scalding his skin. He grunts in pain and quickly, but safely turns off the welder and then rips off his face mask, clenching his teeth as he takes off his gloves and rolls up his tattered sleeve. The skin is angry and red and ready to blister, and Dean feels tears pricking his eyes as the pain blossoms from forearm to shoulder. 

“Dean,” Castiel says. Over the past few months his voice has started to echo with emotion, and while it’s cool to see how Castiel is developing and growing while in the company of humans, it still catches Dean off guard when that rough voice is directed at him with anything other than indifference. Like right now, for instance, Castiel’s voice is laced with concern as he discards his own equipment, reaching out for Dean’s arm.

“S’fine,” Dean grumbles, flexing his fingers. Ouch. 

“Allow me,” Castiel reaches to wind long, strong fingers around Dean’s wrist. He pauses, though, because Dean hadn’t given him the ok, and when their eyes meet, Dean feels a lump lodge itself in his throat. Of course Castiel wants to heal him - he always does, and he always asks for Dean’s consent to do it - but for some reason this proximity is making Dean’s heart race and his pulse pound against Castiel’s fingers where they’re wrapped. 

“Uh, ok,” Dean says dumbly. 

Castiel’s thumb idly strokes Dean’s wrist, reaching up with his free hand to press two fingers against Dean’s forehead. The now familiar coolness that washes through his system causes Dean to let out a relieved breath, the tension in his body relaxing as the pain in his arm vanishes. He opens his eyes just in time to see Castiel lifting his arm and ducking his head simultaneously, and then before Dean can react, those pillow-soft pink lips are pressing delicately against where the burn had been just seconds prior.

Time stops.

Breaths halt. 

Castiel’s gaze flicks up towards Dean, his lips hovering against freckled skin. “I’ve heard that humans do this to help alleviate pain for loved ones.” 

Suddenly Castiel being an alien doesn’t seem to be so important. He has shown nothing but empathy and kindness towards Dean and Sam since they all decided to help each other, and Dean has no right to be as pissy as he’s been. Sure, they work well together and keep each other sharp, but Dean occasionally gets frustrated with Castiel, unable to see past their difference in race to really appreciate anything they’ve been doing for each other. There’s always been a niggling sensation in the back of his head that Castiel was tricking him, biding his time for some ulterior motive, and that he’d leave them high and dry. 

With Castiel bent in supplication, his hold on Dean’s wrist gentle and his lips offering comfort, Dean throws all of his bad thoughts out of the window.

Which is gonna prove to be dangerous, because with that space now unoccupied in his brain, it leaves room for him to think about the forbidden desires that he’s been aggressively stomping down since the first day they met. 

“Th-thanks, Cas,” Dean finally replies once his mouth decides to work.

Castiel gives him a rare smile - it’s not a big one, but his lips tug and his eyes squint a little and he looks… _pleased_. Just as quickly as he’d given the kiss Castiel pulls away and grabs his face shield from the bench, starting to put it back over his head. “I can finish this alone. I do not want you getting any more injuries. Perhaps it is almost dinner time?” 

Like a fish out of water Dean’s lips flap a few times, before he nods. He completely removes his gear - face mask, apron, gloves - and puts them away. “Yeah, I’ll uh. Um. What do you want?”

“I do not require sustenance,” Castiel reminds Dean, though not unkindly. “I believe Sam mentioned something about wanting lasagna.” He pulls his face shield down over his head and then sparks his flame, effectively closing the conversation. 

As Dean walks away from the shed to head inside, he realizes that he’s fucked.

He’s attracted to a damn alien.

\--

Six months come and go. Castiel’s presence is a staple in the Winchester household. Sam still studies, but Dean finds himself getting restless. Getting up and going to work at the plant is wearing him thin when he’s got the opportunity of a lifetime - of a _millennia_ \- on the horizon. Just the thought of blasting off into space with Sam and Castiel is enough fuel to help Dean make it through the week, even if on Friday mornings Dean considers quitting on the spot. But they need the units to continue to buy groceries and miscellaneous things that Castiel requires for his Frankenship, so Dean buckles down and sticks to it. He can’t put all his eggs in one basket, anyway.

His attraction to Castiel never dwindles. If anything, it only intensifies day after day. 

After the kiss to his healed arm Dean has a hard time looking at Castiel when they talk. All he can think about is how soft Castiel’s lips had been. Which leads him to wonder about Castiel’s biology; how much of him is organic? How much of him is bioengineered? How much of him is tech? Dean thinks it might be rude to ask, so he doesn’t, even though he’s burning with the questions. Castiel doesn’t need to release toxins, doesn’t need to sleep, doesn’t even need to eat, but he’s so hot to the touch and his hair looks soft and he does things like wiggle his knee when he’s been sitting for too long. 

He works day and night on the ship. Dean does what he can to help when he’s not working as well as on the weekends, but on most weeknights he’s too exhausted to help too much. Castiel has offered to learn how to cook, so while construction on the ship has slowed down a fraction, Dean is absolutely thrilled to not be the sole chef in the house. 

(He can’t trust Sam to boil water, so he had been all too ready for Castiel to learn.)

Castiel still estimates that the ship will be done on time, perhaps even quicker with how much help Dean has been offering. The last thing they’ll need is a power source, and while they’ve all three brainstormed how to find one, they still can’t think of what they can use or how they’ll acquire it. Castiel assures them that they’ll figure it out, and it’s the last thing they need anyway, so they just need to focus on what they _can_ work on. 

Dean’s still attracted to Castiel, even more so when he’s so hard to ruffle. He never seems to get stressed out, and when tensions run high between the brothers he often runs interference. He does get impatient at times, mostly when Dean is being a full fledged idiot, but not everyone is immune to Dean when he gets annoying - human _or_ alien.

And when Castiel gets impatient, Dean’s attraction ramps up exponentially. 

Castiel is strong. Duh. Between being bioengineered and part cyborg, Dean has seen Castiel bend steel with his bare hands. But sometimes when Dean gets particularly mouthy, Castiel puts that strength on _him_ , and it always leaves Dean breathless. He’ll push Dean up against the wall, shove him out of the way, shake him by the shoulders. It’s not that Castiel has a short temper, it’s just that typically the only way to get through Dean’s thick skull is by using brute force - a fact that Castiel had discovered early on when his verbal accosting got him exactly nowhere.

So Castiel manhandles him, and Dean always gets a rush of endorphins so high it leaves him dazed and pliant. This causes Castiel to do it frequently because he knows it’ll shut Dean up, and maybe he doesn’t know that Dean’s cock plumps between his legs every time it happens, but he still does it, still knocks the breath out of Dean, still stares him down until he submits. 

Dean’s just rowdy.

It’s the eleventh month. The spaceship is complete, but they are now finally tasked with needing an energy source. The three of them argue about what would be best to use - Dean suggests radioisotope thermoelectric generators, but Sam shoots that down, saying that nuclear power in a vessel carrying living beings is too much of a hazard. Castiel mentions that Paradise is in the Andromeda Galaxy, which is two-point-five million light years away, which means they need to go warp speed in order to get there in their own lifetime. 

Warp technology is Sam’s strong point, and he and Castiel discuss the logistics of that while Dean wracks his brain to figure out what they can use for power that can support warp speed as well as not kill them with cancer. 

He comes up blank, unsurprisingly.

It’s two a.m. on Saturday morning and Dean is staring up at the ceiling of his bedroom, feeling mentally exhausted but physically keyed up. Since construction on the ship has been completed all he’s had to do is go to work, but that’s always left him with idle hands at the end of the day. He briefly debates going out to the shed and finding something to tinker around with, but then his bedroom door creaks open, a sliver of light from the living room spilling into his bedroom.

Tilting his head up a little, he’s surprised to see Castiel hovering in the doorway. “Cas?” 

“I could sense you were awake,” Castiel says by way of greeting. He enters the bedroom, shutting the door behind him. Suddenly the space is too small, too intimate, and when Castiel sits down on the edge of Dean’s bed Dean shoots upright, trying to casually scoot up against the headboard and put some space between them. Castiel folds his fingers in his lap and looks down at thim, speaking softly. “I believe I have figured out what we can use as a power source for our craft.”

“That’s-” Dean licks his lips, clearing his throat. “That’s great, Cas. What is it?” 

Castiel wrings his fingers idly. “Fuel cells from the Garrison.” 

Dean’s eyes dry out with how wide he’s holding them open. “What.” 

“I can sneak aboard the ship,” Castiel starts explaining. “I know exactly where they keep them. They’ll fit perfectly in our propulsion chamber.” A rue smile spreads over his features. “I believe I built our ship specifically to be a mini version of the Garrison, on accident.”

“Cas, you can’t go back to the Mothership,” Dean argues. “What if they catch you? You’ll be killed. And we-” he clenches his jaw. “We’ll have done all this work for nothing.”

Turning towards Dean, Castiel’s expression is as soft and honest as it’s ever been. “I will do this, Dean. No matter what, the message to Paradise must be sent. I’ve set the coordinates so all you and Sam will need to do is fire the ship up once the fuel cells are locked in. I have encrypted a message in the communication system, and no harm will befall you or your brother once you land on Paradise.” 

“You-” Dean locks up. “You’re talking about suicide, man. You’re talking about me and Sammy leaving Earth without you.”

“If it comes down to it,” Castiel nods, “then that is what you must do.” 

Dean tosses the blankets off of his body and moves towards Castiel, folding his legs criss cross and just barely resisting reaching out to touch the alien. “Hell no.” he says vehemently. “Look, if anyone’s got luck with breakin’ the law, it’s me. Let me sneak aboard Mothership and get the fuel cells we need.” He tries his best to send Castiel a smirk. “No offense, buddy, but you’re not exactly a criminal.” 

Castiel answers his small smirk with one of his own, “You know not of my history on the ship. Haven’t you wondered what my rank was before I fell?” 

That shuts Dean up. Warily, he asks, “...What?” 

Blue eyes look up to the ceiling. Dean hears them whirr and click before he says, “I was what you would call a ‘major general’. I led the soldiers. I commanded the army. I was a warrior.”

It takes a few moments for Dean to allow that information to sink into his skull. Once it does, his voice is tinged with disbelief. “What the fuck?”

Leaning back on his hands, Castiel turns his gaze towards Dean. “My job was to keep the Garrison, and Earth, safe from hostile outside forces. Should anyone attack us or the Earth, it was my duty to lead the war.”

“ _You_ are the bad guys,” Dean finds himself saying before he can think twice about it. 

Castiel smiles wryly. “It took me many years to realize that. And as soon as I did, the rest of the Garrison knew. I was locked away for treasonous _thoughts_. I hadn’t committed a single act of rebellion, but the hive mind felt my loyalty slip. So they arrested me, demoted me, and put me on mechanic duty.” He looks at his hands once more. “I got intimately acquainted with the ship. I know every in and out of the Garrison, and I am confident that I would be able to sneak aboard and get us what we need.”

Dean’s heart stutters. “We can’t risk that, Cas.”

“We must do what we have to,” Castiel argues softly. “I can get you the fuel cells, Dean. With or without me, you and Sam must leave Earth and go to Paradise.” 

“I ain’t leavin’ you behind!” Dean suddenly says, and then bites his tongue to keep his voice from raising any further. He gives in to the urge to touch Castiel, reaching out to let his palm grip the alien’s shoulder tightly, fingers digging into the strong muscles overlapping his sturdy frame underneath the softest pastel purple sweater. His voice is a bit more urgent when he says, “You do your damndest to come back to us, you son of a bitch.” 

Hearing that Dean is agreeing to his plan, even if he doesn’t support it, has Castiel meeting his gaze once more. They sit suspended in time for a brief moment, green locked on blue, and then Castiel reaches up with his hand to gently cup the side of Dean’s face. Unable to help it, Dean’s eyes close and he presses into Castiel’s palm, letting out a shaky breath. 

“You’re family, Cas,” Dean finally says. “Family don’t end in blood, and they sure as hell don’t leave each other behind.” 

That causes Castiel to smile. A true, genuine, small smile that reaches his cyborg eyes and makes his features light up. Dean’s breath gets stolen from his lungs. Castiel leans forward and presses their foreheads together, both their eyes closing as they absorb the moment. 

“I will do my best.” 

\--

“Do you know how to use this?” Castiel asks, pressing a gun into Dean’s outstretched hands.

Dean offers him a grin, “Like riding a bike, right?” 

Castiel sends him an unimpressed glance, clearly thinking about how he’d knocked Dean off of his bicycle a year ago. “Make sure the safety is off. Here,” he points to a little switch. “This is a photon gun. Don’t shoot me.” 

Dean rolls his eyes. “Yadda yadda. Let’s go.” 

Sam is waiting inside the spaceship in the shed, ready to take off the instant the fuel cells are installed. It’d been mutual agreement from everyone that Sam be left in charge of piloting the ship; Sam’s quick reflexes and his smart noggin were gonna be everything they need to get to where they gotta go. Kid was practically born to be a pilot. 

Dean and Castiel are currently jogging in the cover of night a few neighborhoods over so Castiel can teleport them to the Mothership; the farther away from the Winchester house they get, the less suspicion they’ll rouse of their location. Once they’re a few miles from Dean’s house, Dean trying to catch his breath and Castiel utterly unbothered, they both look up at the ship hovering miles over the surface of the Earth. A bit of anxiety flares up in Dean’s gut, and when their gazes meet, Dean nods. 

As ready as he’ll ever be. 

Castiel reaches out to grab him by the elbow, and the weird sensation in his stomach of their bodies teleporting barely registers before their feet touch down. They both crouch into an alcove immediately, holding their breath as a few soldiers walk down the hallway they’d teleported into. Castiel sticks his head out first, looking around to make sure the coast is clear, and then they start heading to the maintenance deck.

“If you know where the fuel cells are why couldn’t you just teleport us directly to them?” Dean whispers.

“The maintenance room is warded against teleportation,” Castiel replies, voice just as soft. “An access code is required for entry.”

“And you’re just gonna type yours in?” Dean asks, incredulous.

“Yes,” Castiel says.

“This is a bad fuckin’ idea,” Dean breathes. 

They make it to the door of the maintenance room. Dean takes a moment to look around the ship; it’s clean, cleaner than any building Dean has ever been inside of in his life, and it’s bright. He sort of thought the alien ship would be as grimy and musty on the inside as it looks on the outside, but then he figures that it’s easier to keep up maintenance where the aliens are living versus the outside, which is meant to weather the atmosphere. Thinking of an alien janitorial staff has him snickering to himself, which causes Castiel to elbow him in the ribs to quiet him. 

“As soon as I type in my access code, the superiors will be alerted that I am back on the ship, and it will immediately go into crisis mode,” Castiel says. “We will have four minutes and thirty-five seconds to acquire the fuel cells and leave.”

Dean’s eyes bug out of his head. “That’s not enough- damn it Cas, we can’t teleport out of the maintenance room! You’re telling me we gotta break in, cause a riot, and then get _out_ of the only door that goes in or out of the area?” He can already imagine the exits being blocked off by armed guards, trapping them inside the room. 

“Yes,” Castiel replies simply.

Dean gapes at him for a moment, and then shakes his head slowly as he turns the safety off of his gun. “Well, fuck me. Let’s go.” 

Castiel waits for a few seconds and then darts forward to the access panel by the large doors. He types in his code quickly, the doors open, and then he and Dean slip into the room. Castiel uses his gun to smash the access panel on the inside after the doors close and the sound of them malfunctioning grinds Dean’s ears, and then they’re hurrying across the space towards the huge engine in the middle of the room.

“This is one of six engines,” Castiel explains. “It has four fuel cells. We need all of them.” 

Dean stares at the engine, trying to make heads or tails of it. “Uh, Cas, not to panic but I’ve never seen anything like this before.”

Castiel reaches forward, recklessly tearing a football-sized cylinder out of a port. The engine sparks, the lights flicker, and then everything goes red as the crisis sirens blare. “This is the fuel cell.” Castiel shoves the cylinder to Dean, who automatically shoves it into the knapsack draped over his chest. “Get the other three.” 

The alien darts off and Dean hesitates for only a second before thrusting his hand forward, figuring fuck it, if he gets burned he gets burned. But nothing hurts as he rips the cylinder free from its port, and he grins to himself as he puts it in his bag. The third one offers a bit of resistance, and then the fourth one follows quickly, and once he’s got the fuel cells tucked safely into his bag his gaze searches the room for Castiel.

“Cas?” Dean calls over the siren.

“Dean!” Castiel calls from the other side of the room. He’s standing at a control panel, fingers flying over the touch screens popping up in front of his face. “Stand by the exhaust manifold!” 

Dean whips his head around to try and figure out where, exactly, that is, and once he spots it he hurries over towards it. He’s holding the knapsack tightly to his body, the cylinders not terribly heavy but definitely awkward as his gaze lands on Castiel once again. Castiel’s fingers are moving quickly, his expression pinched in concentration, and Dean ends up shifting his weight from foot to foot nervously. 

“Leaving at any time would be awesome, buddy!” he calls.

Castiel slams his hand down on an area of the console that has the floor opening up underneath Dean. Yelping in surprise he dances away from the spot, watching in abject horror as a hatch opens to reveal an area where one could just fall out of the ship and hurtle towards the Earth. 

“Holy shit,” Dean breathes. His stomach nearly turns itself inside out once he sees how fucking far away the surface is. Lawrence looks like a pimple, not a suburb. In fact, Dean can see the curve of the Earth in the distance - holy _shit_ the Mothership is huge and way higher up than Dean’s ever imagined. 

Just as Dean finally turns to look towards Castiel, the jammed maintenance doors burst open. There’s half a dozen armed aliens preparing to attack, and Dean and Castiel’s gaze meet for the briefest of moments. Brief as it is, time still seems to slow. Dean sees Castiel jumping towards him, hears the gunfire, and he’s dimly aware of falling backwards because Castiel has launched into his arms, limbs wrapped tightly around Dean as they plummet through the hatch. 

Free falling. 

That’s the feeling, Dean thinks as they sail out of the open hatch and start careening through the atmosphere. 

The sensation of falling so quickly and so heavily is relative to how Dean sometimes feels when he’s in an enclosed space with Castiel. The sensation of being weightless and an anchor at the same time whenever Castiel looks at him with those eyes. The sensation of his heart beating for a reason other than his brother. 

They tumble through the air, struggling to hold onto one another and the knapsack between them, the speed at which they’re falling trying to rip them apart. It’s a clumsy dance, Dean’s eyes drying out and lungs heaving from the thin oxygen this high up in the atmosphere, but in one instant just their hands are joined, and in the next instant Castiel has Dean tucked into his chest, legs wrapped around Dean’s, and then that lurching sensation behind his navel has Dean slamming his eyes shut. 

They pop into existence inside the spaceship in the shed. Sam whoops when they fall into a heap on the floor and then he’s getting the knapsack, pulling out the cylinders and running towards the engine room. Heaving for breath, Dean sprawls on his back on blessed, solid ground, staring up at the ceiling and trying to get his jackhammer heart to calm down. 

After a moment he sits up, eyes finding Castiel. The alien is clutching his stomach, his yellow cable-knit sweater stained on the front with a strange black goo. 

Blood, Dean’s brain supplies.

Darting forward Dean reaches out towards Castiel, panic seizing him. Sam bounds past them towards the pilot seat and when he fires up the spaceship he lets out a victorious shout, the ship jolting and shaking and trembling before finally lifting off of the ground. Dean presses his palm against Castiel’s stomach through his sweater and then curses when Castiel winces, trembling fingers lifting Castiel’s shirt up to get a look at the wound.

It’s garish and gross, and though Castiel’s body is encased in a human-like flesh, when Dean uses his hand to try and wipe away the blood to see the wound he still finds himself surprised to see a few wires sticking out of muscles and tendon. 

“Fuck, Cas,” Dean mutters. “Why’d you have to go and get shot?” 

Castiel lets out the most reedy, human laugh he’s ever breathed, and he moves a hand up to grip Dean’s shoulder. “Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine!” Dean snaps as he shifts to get on his feet, crouching and hefting Castiel up by his armpits. A feat, because Castiel is made of much more than a human, and therefore weighs a fucking _ton_. 

Castiel gets his feet under him and then they make their way over towards the first aid area, Dean gingerly setting him down on the bench. He rips Castiel’s sweater from his body, exposing miles of tanned synthetic skin, and then wads up the material and presses it against Castiel’s stomach.

“Put pressure on it,” Dean says, and once his hands are empty he reaches up to the shelves to locate the first aid kit. “What kinda gun?”

“Bullets,” Castiel says, voice laced with delirious amusement. It’s an uncannily human sound. “They shot _bullets_ at me.”

Dean doesn’t see whatever irony Castiel does, but he considers them lucky because fishing a bullet out of Castiel’s gut is something he can definitely handle. Photon guns that incinerate everything around the wound make it a lot harder to stitch people up. Once he has the first aid kit Dean settles between Castiel’s knees, Castiel leaning back against the wall and taking in stuttered breaths. 

Digging around in Castiel’s stomach with the forceps is unpleasant, but Castiel either doesn’t feel much, or he’s unbothered by it. He’s got to be in pain, though, judging by the way his breaths are wheezing out of him and the tremors wracking his body. After Dean fishes out the bullet and lets it clatter to the floor, his hands covered in the black substance acting as Castiel’s blood, he shakily threads a needle and then starts sewing up the wound, thankful it’s only a few inches across. He’s not sure if Castiel is susceptible to infection, or even if the amount of ‘blood’ he’s lost will damage him in some way, but he got the bullet out and after another ten minutes the wound is sutured shut, and Dean sits back on his ass, finally letting out the heaving breaths he’s been holding the entire time.

“Dean,” Castiel says. He shifts and tumbles off of the bench and into Dean’s arms, which spread in surprise when the alien tips towards him, and they both fall backwards to the floor. “Dean,” Castiel murmurs, lying between Dean’s legs, his elbows on Dean’s chest as he cups the human’s face and looks into his eyes. “Dean, you saved me.” 

“Uh,” Dean feels his cheeks heating up. “You ok buddy? You lost a lot of… uh, whatever it is that keeps you running.” 

“You _saved_ me,” Castiel reiterates.

“Uh huh,” Dean says slowly. “Kinda surprising I guess, since you threw me off a frigging spaceship,” he jokes, trying for levity. 

Castiel shifts so he can prop himself up properly over Dean, those mechanical eyes searching over every inch of Dean’s face. Dean can see his pupils dilating and contracting, can hear the minute ticks as they track over his features, and then Castiel says seriously, “I would do anything to keep you safe.”

The admission settles over them like a heavy blanket, and instead of it feeling suffocating, it feels safe. Dean’s breath hitches for a beat, and then he offers a crooked smile, the space between them shrinking minutely. “Yeah… me too, Cas.” 

“Guys!” Sam’s voice comes from the cockpit and steadily comes closer. “We’ve made it past- oh jeez, get a room!” 

Dean tips his head back on the floor to look at Sam upside down, delighting in the way his brother is covering his eyes. He snickers and then pats Castiel’s shoulder and they both get up into proper sitting positions before Dean helps Castiel to his feet, looking down at his sewing project. He’s never seen Castiel shirtless before; his body is compact and strong, and he doesn’t have washboard abs but he’s solidly built, shoulders broad, chest wide, stomach sturdy. Well- except for where Dean’s kindergarten stitches decorate his skin.

“You gonna be ok?” Dean asks, genuinely concerned. 

“My nanotechnology will repair the damage much quicker with your help,” Castiel says with a nod. “I should be at one-hundred percent in an hour.” 

“You got shot?” Sam clues into the conversation belatedly, a worried expression pinching his brows. “Are you ok? Can aliens die from gunshot wounds?” 

Castiel offers a small smile. “I will be fine, Sam. Dean saved my life.”

Sam’s features smooth with relief, his smile wide and warm. “Good. We just passed Jupiter and we’re well on our way out of the galaxy. We’ll be able to hit warp in an hour.” 

“Awesome,” Dean says with a grin. He claps Castiel on the shoulder, their gazes meeting for the briefest moments before Sam awkwardly clears his throat.

“Alright, well uh. I’m gonna go do … pilot things, so if you guys need to uh. Have some alone time? I’ll be up at the flight deck. As far away from the bunks as I can get. And I will be listening to music. So…” Sam turns on heel and walks out of the area without saying anything further. 

Dean snorts a laugh, hiding his eyes behind his hand as he feels his skin prickle with embarrassment and something else. 

“Why is Sam so keen on being away from us?” Castiel asks, all innocent inquiry. 

Dean drops his hand, fixing Castiel with a gaze. “Because he thinks we’re gonna have sex, Cas.” 

“Oh,” Castiel says simply. His head tilts, his eyes squint, and he asks, “Are we?” 

Feeling his lips twitching, Dean shrugs. “I’m… what’s that word you use? Uh… ‘amenable’.” 

“Even though I am an alien?” Castiel’s expression is as open and curious as it’s ever been, and it makes Dean a little weak in the knees. 

“Mechanics still work the same, right?” Dean asks, suddenly feeling a bit shy. “Aliens have sex don’t they?” 

Castiel shakes his head. “We do not need to have intercourse in order to reproduce.” 

Dean can’t help but let his eyes drop to Castiel’s worn jeans. “Come to think of it, I don’t even know if you’ve got the right equipment.” 

“I am a biologically endowed male,” Castiel deadpans. “I imagine I don’t look much different than you.”

“Wanna find out?” Dean asks, his eyebrows bouncing. 

Castiel rolls his eyes and it’s the most human thing Dean’s ever seen him do. Then Castiel grabs his wrist and tugs him towards the bunk area, mischief a good look on his handsome features. 

\--

Turns out Castiel’s anatomy isn’t that far off from a human male’s. They take their time exploring each other once they’re naked; there’s still some dried black fluid on Castiel’s stomach and Dean’s knuckles are a bit bloody from ripping the cylinders from their pods, but it’s real, and proof that they did the near-impossible. When they kiss it’s fireworks and when they caress it’s waterfalls and it feels like the most natural thing in the world, in the universe, for them to come together. 

Some diligent research has them discovering that Castiel can’t be stimulated… anally… and Dean finds he’s got no hesitation in spreading his legs and allowing Castiel between them. Castiel’s body is a fascinating mix of organic and tech; Dean learns that his dick leaks precum, although the texture of it is slightly stickier and the color is on the blueish side. He learns that Castiel’s mouth is capable of generating saliva, even though there’s no real reason for it, and he also learns that Castiel has absolutely no body hair. 

The best thing to learn is what a _giving_ lover Castiel turns out to be.

With their bodies joined it’s easy to break down any remaining barriers between them. They aren’t alien and human - they’re two beings coming together to seek out pleasure and solace in one another, and just as easy as everything else had been, Dean finds himself giving himself over completely to Castiel. 

Free falling. 

\--

Dean’s feeling slightly uncomfortable in the red Paradise-regulation military suit he’d been stuffed into that morning, the collar high and the waist tight. Next to him Sam doesn’t seem uncomfortable at all, his long hair pulled up into a slick bun and his blue pilot uniform crisp. On Dean’s other side Castiel looks like a fucking prince, his uniform white with gold accents and decorated with so many pins and buttons he jingles slightly when he walks. The three of them are standing adjacent to a podium where Paradise’s leader is addressing a crowd and a camera crew, the ceremony in full swing. 

It’s been three months since they landed on Paradise, and two months since humans had regained autonomy on Earth. 

“We are gathered here to honor our bravest warrior, Castiel,” Emperor Chuck announces. He’s a squirrely alien, scruffy and small in stature with expressive eyes. Next to him is Empress Naomi, a regal alien who’d probably do better at delivering the speech, but the quadrant needs to hear from Chuck, who rarely makes public appearances. “A millennium ago we sent one of our best ships to Earth in an effort to integrate our cultures and exchange information. Unfortunately some jerk thought they had a better agenda than me, so they messed everything up, and-”

Naomi casually clears her throat and Chuck catches his ramblings, coughing lightly.

“Anyway. We have greatly wronged the Earth, and while we can’t undo a thousand years of agricultural warfare and genocide, we can do our best to offer Earth sanctity in the future. We will be sending our best tech and scientists to Earth to help bring it back to rights. Our very own Castiel, the Paradisian responsible for blowing the whistle, will be overseeing all projects on Earth for the indeterminable future.” 

Castiel steps forward, away from Dean’s side. His back is straight, shoulders strong, hands clasped behind his back as he looks out at the cheering crowd. Dean’s heart swells with affection and pride. 

“His liaisons, Sam and Dean Winchester, humans from Earth, will be working closely with him to ensure we are doing everything we can for the people we oppressed for so long.” Chuck lets out a little sigh, his shoulders drooping a bit as he grips the sides of the podium and leans into the microphone. “I’m really, really sorry about all of this, people of Earth. I know it’s not gonna be easy, and you probably don’t even really forgive us, but please at least use us for our technology so you can get back up on your feet. You can totally kick us out after. Like uh- like going on a bad date and making them pay for it as compensation. Y’know?”

Naomi lets out an impatient noise next to Chuck, and he quickly straightens. 

“Anyway! This uh, ceremony is over. Once again, our deepest condolences to Earth and all the people inhabiting it. Apologies are kinda worthless, but we’re gonna do our best to hold ourselves accountable.”

The broadcast stops and the crowd, a mixture of Paradisians, humans, and beings from dozens of other planets break into applause. Dean finds a smile tugging on his lips and when he shakes hands with Chuck he finds himself letting go of the anger he’d held towards the aliens and the Mothership, accepting that this is a new page to be written on.

It helps that Castiel is by his side, his hand on the small of Dean’s back, guiding him through the crowd so they can shake hands with military personnel, civilians, and reporters. 

Earth isn’t going to be repaired overnight. The Mothership has left the atmosphere and Earth will slowly, but naturally recover. Dean and Sam will accompany Castiel back to Earth in a regulation Paradisian ship, and there they will meet with the world leaders to start making arrangements and agreements for agriculture and industry. 

History is being written. 

Away from the crowd, Castiel pulls Dean against him for a deep, slow kiss. Dean melts into it and wraps his arms around Castiel’s waist, mindful of the pins so they don’t get caught between their uniforms and pop off. Castiel’s tongue slides into Dean’s mouth, his hand rests on Dean’s jaw, and when they break apart Castiel’s eyes are whirring and clicking in a way Dean has associated with that big scary L word.

Castiel has been memorizing everything they’ve done together, cataloguing it to his memory to call back on it at a later date or for when they’re apart. 

“I’m so proud of you, Dean,” Castiel murmurs.

Dean laughs a little, “That’s my line.” He reaches up to gently pull on the folded lapel of Castiel’s uniform. “You look damn good, Ambassador Castiel.” 

“This uniform suits your frame, Chief Engineer Winchester,” Castiel replies, his palms sliding down Dean’s flanks slowly. “Perhaps you will allow me to divest you of it later?” 

Tipping his head back to laugh fully, Dean shakes his head and leans in to steal another kiss. “Oh, baby. Keep talking dirty to me.”

“Could you two stop for like, ten minutes? Ever?” Sam gripes as he approaches them. “Our ship is leaving in thirty minutes.” 

“Sure thing, Captain Winchester,” Dean says cheekily.

Sam flushes, still clearly trying to get used to the fact he’s a respected pilot. Navigating their ship by himself through the cosmos and safely, quickly getting them to Paradise is a story that many people listen to with awe. “Shut up. Flight deck in fifteen.”

“Yes Sir,” Dean gives a lazy salute, which causes Sam to roll his eyes and walk away. Turning back to Castiel, Dean wraps the alien up in his arms and starts walking backwards, their knees knocking together. “Think someone had enough sense to have us bunk together privately?” 

“According to Paradise customs we cannot bunk together privately until after our union ceremony,” Castiel reminds him.

“Right, right,” Dean says, still walking backwards and causing Castiel to chuckle every time they stumble. “So when can we do that?” 

Castiel sends Dean an amused glance. “Would you really like to unite with me?” 

“I’d be real pissed at myself if I gave you any other impression over the last year and a half,” Dean says simply. 

Expression softening, Castiel halts their movements and cups either side of Dean’s face, drawing him in for a sweet kiss. “I’m very glad I fell on you, Dean Winchester.”

Dean’s smile is crooked and full of love when he says, “I’m very glad I fell _for_ you.” 

In the background Sam gags. 

Dean flips him off as he swoops Castiel into a kiss in the middle of the crowd.

**Author's Note:**

> i'm (hopefully) going to be updating this series every Monday and Friday (if i don't end up eating my whole foot)!  
> come talk to me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/deansdaisydukes)!


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